Harry Potter and the Kingdom of the Mountain
by Curlyjimsam
Summary: Unfinished, and possibly never to be finished. Sequel to 'Harry Potter and the Last Hope of the World'. Harry is preparing for his second year at Andros, the Auror College. He and his fellow students are due to go on a foreign course in another country -
1. A Disturbance

**Harry Potter and the Kingdom of the Mountain**

_A Fanfiction by Arrows' Biggest Fan_

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter, etc., does not belong to the present author, who begs not to be sent to Azkaban.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the sequel to _Harry Potter and the Last Hope of the World_, by the same author. Please read that story first. Also, please visit my website ) for further information on the stories. Feel free to review, but you are under no obligation to do so.

This story has been abandoned. I have no intention of writing anything more in the near future or in the far future. I'm only leaving it on the site for the benefit of anyone mad enough to want to read what I have actually written. If you want to find out what else happens in this story, write it yourself.

_Chapter 1: A Disturbance_

"And he takes it! Dodges a Bludger, dodges the Keeper – GOAL!" The announcer's voice boomed through the stadium. "The Chudley Cannons' first of the match! So – three hundred and sixty to ten. And we're off again – it's Dupont …"

Harry Potter watched as the Montrose Magpies' French Chaser took the red Quaffle and sped up the pitch with it. His friend Ron would be happy when he returned with the burgers. He was a fanatic Chudley Cannons supporter, and went to every game where possible. Harry, being his best friend, generally had little choice but to come with him to the matches, which were almost exclusively full of woe and suffering.

Luckily for Harry, he and Ron were both training to be Aurors, Dark wizard catchers, at Andros College, and were away from home for more than half the year. Very few people every got through the rigorous courses and testing, but Harry thought he might be in with a chance. Two years ago, he had defeated the most deadly Dark Lord for a century, Voldemort, and less than two months ago had stopped a new Dark Lord, Amarenox, from plunging both the magical and non-magical worlds into ever-lasting darkness.

Ron returned, holding two burgers in one hand and a large bottle of Butterbeer in the other. He was tall and lanky, with bright red hair and freckles, wearing wizard's robes of the Chudley Cannon orange. He handed Harry his burger, and glanced up at the scoreboard in the corner of the stadium. "Did we score?" he asked, sitting down and taking a bite of his own burger.

"Yeah," replied Harry. He was a tall man, slightly skinny, with long black hair and wearing sunglasses. His ears were pierced, a new development to his appearance. "Didn't you hear the cheering?"

Ron cleared his mouth of bread and beef before speaking. "Yeah, I s'pose. Thought it was the Magpies. Let's watch."

Things continued to go badly for the Cannons. After a Cannons Chaser missed what was practically an open goal, Ron commented:

"Oh well, we'll do better next time. We'll have Suzuki coming from the Toyohashi Tengu. Two million Galleons, he cost us."

Harry racked his brains for something reassuring to tell Ron. "Don't worry," he said finally. "It's only the first game of the season. You have plenty more – what's that?"

A loud bang had gone off with a flash of bright light behind the opposite stand, which was a rickety affair made of wood that was only standing up because of magic. Harry looked up, expecting to see the stand collapse any second, but it didn't. The rest of the stadium had also looked up briefly, but turned back to the match when it appeared that nothing was going on.

"Ignore it," said Ron. "Just a Muggle messing around."

"There're Muggle Repelling Charms, remember?"

Ron looked slightly flustered. "Okay, a wizard messing around then. Still, it's nothing."

They returned to watching the game and chewing their burgers. The Montrose Seeker had spotted the tiny Golden Snitch and was speeding after it, the fans cheering him on; to try to win one hundred and fifty points for his team and win the game. The Cannons Seeker also gave chase, hoping to reclaim some lost goal difference, but the Montrose Seeker had a head start. Even so, the Cannons were gaining, they were nearly there –

A solid iron Bludger crashed into the shoulder of the Magpies' Seeker, causing him to peel over. It had been sent by one of Chudley's Beaters. The Cannons' orange-clad supporters roared on their Chaser, but he too was hit by a Bludger, this time from the Montrose Magpies Beater. He fell off his broom, hitting the ground with a _thud_, and the crowd groaned.

BANG! An explosion rocked the stadium, and a blaze of light ripped across the pitch. The fans were looking around, confused; the commentator had faltered …

"Let's go," Harry whispered in Ron's ear.

"What?" exclaimed Ron. "Look, I paid for these tickets …"

"I'll refund them," replied Harry, fumbling in his pockets for money. "We need to investigate."

"Why?" said Ron, taking Harry's coins.

"Because we're Aurors," said Harry. He grabbed his bag and slung it onto his back. "It's our job."

"We've had a year's training," argued Ron. "Look, there are _professionals_ –"

"Who aren't anywhere near," Harry countered. "We're going." He walked along the almost vacant row of seats in the Cannons section of the stands. Reluctantly, Ron followed. As they left the stadium, there was a great cheer; and the two watched a Magpies' Chaser spiralling above the stands in his typical goal celebration.

"Face it, you were going to lose anyway," pointed out Harry.

Ron nodded glumly. "Maybe I should play for them." He had been Keeper for the Gryffindor House team at his and Harry's school, Hogwarts. Harry had been Seeker.

The pair walked in the direction of the explosion in silence. Ron was obviously brooding over his team's misfortune, and Harry didn't feel like either cheering him up or teasing him.

They arrived at the area after a few minutes walking through the deserted grassy surroundings of the stadium. It was clear that something had been going on. A large hole, like the gaping mouth of a whale, had been blasted into the sloping lawn behind the stand. It was at least forty feet wide and just as high. Inside, bare rock had been exposed, revealing a narrow tunnel leading into the hillside.

"_Wow_," breathed Ron. "Why on earth would anyone do that?"

"I don't know," replied Harry. "That's what I'm going to find out."

Ron looked incredulous. "No!"

"Why not?" asked Harry.

Ron paused, searching for a good answer. "I – er – it could be dangerous. It's obviously just been put here. You know – it could fall in, or something. I'll – er – I'll just Apparate back to London and tell someone at the Ministry, and you can keep watch. If anyone comes out – you can stop them, you're good at that sort of thing."

Harry decided not to argue. It wasn't fair to force Ron to come up with more arguments. He was obviously scared stiff about the hole, and who could blame him? The blackness was ominous and not at all welcoming. Anyway, someone was bound to come out soon. He could still do something.

"Okay," he said. "We'll do that. You go off, and I'll look around for clues. Bye."

With a loud _crack_, Ron disappeared. Taking out his wand, Harry started to search the cave mouth for anything that could be of interest. After all, this didn't happen every day.


	2. Chases and Races

_Chapter 2: Chases and Races_

"So what if the Ministry guy said it was –"

"Nothing!" Ron finished Harry's sentence for him. "We left the match for _nothing_!"

"Ron! You lost anyway! One thousand and ten to thirty! You didn't want to watch that!"

Ron opened his mouth to try to argue, but failed. He picked up his cup of coffee and drained what remained in a single swig. "I suppose so."

They were sitting behind the counter of the Diagon Alley branch of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare International. The charity had grown from being a small affair to a major international campaign, with outlets in four locations across Great Britain and also in Ireland, Germany and several other European countries. SPEWIN had given up trying to free house elves entirely, but still campaigned for them to have better rights. This involved organising health care, aid for elves who were past work and organisation of better wizard-to-elf relations.

The charity was headed by Ron's girlfriend, Hermione Granger, and received a large amount of financial backing from Rudolf O'Hare, Harry and Ron's friend and fellow trainee Auror at Andros. Due to the immense amount of support Rudolf had given to the society, Hermione was now able to spend more of her time doing other things. With perfect exam grades, finding a part-time job hadn't been hard: she now worked for Gringotts Wizarding Bank four afternoons a week, giving advice on curse-breaking and the like.

 Of course, while she was gone she left it to Ron and Harry to run the shop. They weren't the only staff, of course: there was a young, blundering secretary and an elderly witch who worked behind the till. Neither of them was really capable of taking charge of the premises for four hours at a time, so Hermione had instructed Ron to hold responsibility while she was gone. Ron had pulled in Harry to help him, and that was why the two of them now spent what seemed like most of their time answering staff and customers' queries and handing out leaflets.  

            "What's she going to do when we have to go back to Andros?" asked Ron vaguely as he collected a colourful elf-blanket made of knitted woollen squares: the old witch had fallen asleep. "I hope she doesn't expect to trek down from Staffordshire every weekday."

            "She'll sort something out," replied Harry. "She always does. She'd trek to the centre of the earth if it was going to help her save the house-elves." He paused for a few seconds. "I wonder…"

            "What?" asked Ron. "You don't think she's going to employ a team of Nifflers to …?" He broke off, obviously unable to think of a way of finishing his sentence.

            "No," said Harry. "No, that cave – what do you think it was?"

            "Nothing, that's what the Hit Wizard said."

            "You think we're going to believe _him_? He looked scared to death, for goodness sake. No, I was thinking about – Amarenox."

            "What? Oh, I see, he doesn't like the light …"

            "And he can't use his old cave anymore, so he's built himself a new one," speculated Harry.

            "Right next to a Quidditch stadium?" exclaimed Ron.

            "Why not?" asked Harry. "At least the Muggles won't notice."

            "Um. Do you – er – think we should check it out?"

            "Yeah, I do. Wake up Doris and I'll get the broomsticks. We'll Apparate straight away."

            "Er –" said Ron. "If we're Apparating, why do we need brooms?"

            "In case he tries to escape. He got away last time, remember."

            "Fine," answered Ron. He prodded the old witch behind the till with his wand. She groaned drowsily. "Let's go," he said.

            It was clearly that, in truth, the Hit Wizard who had come to inspect the cavernous hole had thought it much more than nothing. No less than eight large security trolls were roaming around its entrance, and an important looking wizard in black robes, hat and boots was studying the cave mouth, clipboard in one hand, wand in the other.

            "What do you think you're doing here?" he asked as Ron and Harry Apparated next to him, brooms in hand. "This is a Ministry of Magic operation."

            "We just came to investigate," said Harry. "It's obvious that we haven't been told the whole truth."

            "Oh is it?" inquired the wizard. "And why – what are you doing?"

            "Going in," replied Harry. "I hope you don't mind."

            "I most certainly do," bumbled the wizard. "You can't go in there, it's dangerous – trolls!"

            The brutish beasts turned on the three of them and started to advance in their direction.

            "We were told it was nothing," replied Harry. "Have a nice day."

            With a glance back at the eerily empty stadium, he and Ron descended into the tunnel mouth. As the darkness engulfed them, they heard clubbing noises, grunts and screams from the direction of the wizard and the trolls.

            "Stupid man," said Ron. "Er, Harry – the tunnel ends here."

            They had only been walking for about fifty yards.

            "Don't worry," said Harry, illuminating his wand. "I'm sure that we can find something if we look." He started to search the cold grey wall.

            "Like this?" said Ron, motioning towards a door in the rock.

            "Like that," said Harry. "Weird, I didn't see that there."

            "Probably one of these things you only notice if you're looking for it," replied Ron. "Let's go in."

            "We'll put down our brooms first," instructed Harry. "We don't need to be lugging them around."

            "No, we don't," answered Ron, obviously glad that Harry had realised that broomsticks were actually quite heavy. "As long as the trolls don't find them."

            After setting his Cleansweep carefully on the ground, he pushed open the dark wooden door. Sitting behind it, obviously deep in thought, was an old man.

            "Ahem," said Harry. "May we talk?"

            Amarenox looked up, surprised. "Harry Potter! But how – why –"

            Harry reached out and grabbed the elderly Dark wizard by his frayed, shabby robes, using his left hand. Unlike his right, this one was purely artificial, due to an assassination attempt against him the previous year, and had magically advanced grip.

            "We meet again," said Harry. "And this time, we're prepared."

            "I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," replied Amarenox fiercely. "I know magic you will never –" He stopped there. Pulling a makeshift wand from inside his robes, he hit both Harry and Ron with well-placed jinxes. After a moment, Harry realised what had happened. The old man had run out of the door, and leapt onto Ron's broomstick. "You'll never catch me now!" he yelled.

            "Unless I just happen to have a broom of my own," said Harry, ignoring Ron's shock at the theft that had taken place in front of his very eyes. He leapt onto his Nimbus 2500, and kicked off, leaving Ron behind.

            The broom moved with the pace and power of a rocket; it was the fastest in the world. Harry, as one of the best flyers Hogwarts had ever had, should have had no problem catching the new self-styled Dark Lord. However, it became clearly that Amarenox also knew some tricks with a broom.

            To begin with, he zigzagged between the walls of the tunnel, intending to make Harry crash. Only his quick reflexes and pinpoint turning saved him; by the time he had realised Amarenox's aim they were out of the cave, zooming around the heads of enraged security trolls. Harry dodged blow after blow by the stupid, angry creatures, then followed Amarenox into the Quidditch stadium itself. The Dark Lord flew down one of the staircases that led from the seating to the entrances; Harry followed, trying his hardest not to smash into the painted walls. Then they were out into open country, Amarenox turning sharply at every opportunity, Harry tailing him as best he could. He reached for his wand, but Amarenox got there first. The Dark Wizard yelled a word of command: Harry was falling, falling downwards. As he fell, he thought he saw someone else on a broomstick, following both him and Amarenox, but then he saw no more.

"That was quite some flying back there," said a voice. Harry opened his eyes. He was lying in the midst of a field of corn; a young wizard, dressed in sports robes and with short black hair, styled with gel, was standing over him. Harry could see his Nimbus lying a few feet away.

            "He got away though, didn't he?" asked Harry, sitting up and wiping his glasses.

            "Who, the old guy?" asked the wizard. He spoke in a definite American accent. "Looked like a nasty piece of work."

            "He is," said Harry. "I wish I knew a bit more about him – who he was, that sort of thing."

            "Well, there's no need to ask who you are," said the man, helping Harry to his feet and glancing at the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. He held out a hand, and Harry took it. "I'm Draper, Lancelot Draper. Professional broom racer. Have you ever considered giving that sort of thing a go?"  

            "Well, no," replied Harry. "We did a bit at college, I suppose."

            "You fly like a pro," said Draper, putting on a pair of shades from his pocket. "Better than me, and I just came second in the British SuperFly."

            "You really think so?" said Harry. "I've heard of you – number four in the world, a racer for Nimbus."

            "That's me," said Draper. "You should try it some time. Not professionally, you've got more important things to do, but there are plenty of races open to amateurs. In fact, it was an amateur who won the Swedish last time around. Now, you look like a speedy sort of guy, but you could do anything. You'd be amazed at the number of competitions there are. Anyway, I'd better be going. I'll tell my manager about you. See what he thinks."

            Before Harry had time to say "thanks", Draper had leapt on his broom and flown off. Surprised at this abrupt departure, Harry took hold of his Nimbus and Disapparated, before the farmer discovered the large, isolated area of flattened crop in his cornfield.


	3. An Invitation

_Chapter 3: An Invitation_

"But you have no idea where he went?" Hermione asked Harry. They were sitting, together with Ron, in the Leaky Cauldron pub, discussing the events of the day before.

"None at all," said Harry. "We were heading south, I think."

"Bastard!" cursed Ron. "When do I get my broom back?"

"Don't worry," soothed Hermione. "I'm sure we can find you one somewhere. Anyway, Amarenox is far more important than a broomstick."

Ron looked highly taken aback at this statement. "He – he's not even a proper Dark Lord," he stuttered. "He hasn't even got any followers unless you count Millstew, and he's dead."

"Yes, I know, but he's still very dangerous. You and Harry might have stopped him from plunging the world into eternal darkness last year, but he's going to try again. Oh …" Hermione fell silent for a few seconds. "He's never gone out in daylight before, has he?" she asked the two of them. "But he was outside yesterday – any ideas Harry?"

Harry swigged down the remaining drops of Firewhisky, and dried his mouth on his cuff. "Erm – no. Unless – destroying the day's just a cover-up."

Ron shook his head. "No way. He spent all of last year trying to get rid of the Orb of Light, remember?"

"And me," said Harry.

"What?"

"He was trying to get rid of me as well. You don't think he was an old servant of Voldemort out – out for revenge …" He faltered. He hadn't realised it before, but the memory of his defeat of Lord Voldemort was a painful memory. Had it really taken this long to sink in?

"Unlikely," said Hermione. "Unless he faked being killed by Aurors and ran away."

Trying hastily to change the subject, Harry said, "He'll be hundreds of miles away by now. He'll probably end up being arrested in Hong Kong or something. There's no point bothering about it any more."

"Not like you to give up so easily," said Ron, but only quietly.

A week or so later, Harry was sitting in his bedroom at home, writing an essay on the invention of spells. His house-elf Neddy, who had come with the property, was running around obediently, picking up various bits and pieces of Auror equipment that were lying on the floor. Saddle Cottage was never messy, and was scarily like Harry's uncle and aunt's home, Number Four Privet Drive, where he had spent much of the first seventeen years of his life. Still, it had a homely feel to it, with posters of rock stars and Quidditch players pinned to the walls and various interesting magical items stacked (neatly) on cupboards and tables around the little house.  

            There was a hoot, and a snowy owl flew straight through the open window. It was Hedwig, who belonged to Harry and was his primary means of communication. She had a large envelope, made of thick parchment, tied to her leg. Harry untied it: she flapped into her cage and Neddy immediately ran over to her and started to groom her feathers and make sure she had enough food and water.

            Harry received letters from a number of people: old school friends, people such as Ron's parents and Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore, the clan of vampires he had got to know last year, the tax man, advertising companies, the Muggle woman who had taken to writing down his various adventures at Hogwarts, and many others. He did not recognise the handwriting on this particular envelope, however, and, as he opened it, tried to remember who he had met recently who might have wanted to send him a letter.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_            I have been informed by no less than one of the greatest broomstick racers I have ever seen, and who you have had the good fortune to meet, that you are an extremely talented flyer. Mr. Draper, whom I coach professionally for the Nimbus racing team, obviously thinks very highly of you. It would therefore give me great pleasure to meet you and, if, as I'm sure you will, you possess the necessary talent, put you forward in certain races. I would love you to write back and tell me that you are willing to attempt such a venture and will be able to attend our next training session on August 23rd, or alternatively at the earliest possible date._

_            Yours sincerely,_

_            Michael Swift,_

_            Nimbus Broom Racing Worldwide._

Harry put the letter down, his heart beating wildly. He was thought good enough to be chosen for probably the best broomstick racing team in the world. And all because he'd been chasing Amarenox! It was one of the strangest things and most unlikely that had ever happened to him, not counting various brushes with evil sadists. He stopped thinking about this, and hurriedly wrote a positive reply: _Yes. I would be thrilled to join your training session._

            He was about to tie the message to Hedwig's leg when he stopped. She was old and, in any case, it would mess up Neddy's hard work. Maybe it would be better to use one of the owls from the local wizarding post office instead.

            "Neddy," he said to the elf, who jumped and dropped Owl Treats all over the floor. "I'm going out."

            "No sir," replied Neddy, scrambling around picking up the debris. Harry knelt down to help him. "Neddy will do it sir."

            "Fine," agreed Harry, putting the last of the Owl Treats back into its bag and handing Neddy the letter. "Take this to the Post Office. Oh, and – as you're going out, visit Spewing and get a holiday application form. You won't have anything to do while I'm at Andros, otherwise."

            Nodding, Neddy took the letter and disappeared with a loud _crack_.       


	4. Training

A/N: Yes, it's been a long time. More than one and a half months, if I'm right. But it's here now, so read …

_Chapter 4: Training_

It wasn't until the morning of August the 23rd that Harry realised he had no idea where Nimbus training sessions actually took place. He tried searching frantically for a wizarding equivalent of the Yellow Pages, discovered there was none, spent half an hour reading back issues of _The Daily Prophet _to see if they gave him any clues, and finally discovered the address in a 1969 edition of _Sportswizard's Almanac _in a shop for second-hand books in Diagon Alley. Hoping that the address hadn't changed in thirty-odd years, he leapt on his broomstick and arrived, spectacularly fast, fifteen minutes late.

Even if it was at the same address at it had been only two years into Nimbus's existence, the training ground had obviously been revamped so many times and cared for so well that it made no difference. The site was massive, and at first Harry thought it was a wonder that Muggles didn't notice it. Then he realised how cleverly it had been done. The fields over which the practice races took place looked no different from those belonging to real farmers, and the various buildings dotted around the place could easily be mistaken as modern business parks. Roads criss-crossed the fields and woods, but at each and every entrance a permanent 'Road Closed' sign had been placed.

Despite his massive velocity, Harry had no problem taking all this it, a result of eight years as a Quidditch Seeker. He also had no problems finding the other racers: they were grouped round the foot of a large building labelled RAINCLOUD ENTERPRISES, obviously engaging in some kind of warm-up. Harry approached them without breaking, swerved violently to avoid the building, swerved again to avoid the wizards below, and landed perfectly beside them.

The six men and one woman all stopped stretching and stared at Harry, who stood still for a few seconds, wondering what he was going to next. Then Lancelot Draper stepped forward from the group, grabbed hold of Harry and said, "I told you he was good!"

The others nodded and two of the men started to clap. "Er – hello," said Harry. "Sorry I'm a bit late."

"Oh, don't worry about that!" said a man who Harry presumed was Michael Swift, coming forward and shaking Harry's hand. He was dressed in long, rather shabby red robes, in contrast to the sleek black of the racers. "Let me introduce you to everybody – you've met Lance of course."

"Yes," said Harry. "I have."

"Well, this is Deryn Jones –" Swift motioned towards the witch, who had wavy blonde hair and a large smile – "and that's Arlie Travers… Neil Jokes –" Two tall men, one of them wearing glasses, extended their hands; Harry shook both at once – "Göker Rüzgar – he's Turkish –" A short, well-built man nodded – "and Ari Elofssen." The last wizard, a thickset blond man with a ponytail held up his arm in a wave. "And I'm Michael Swift, of course," said the trainer.

"Yeah. I'm – er – very pleased to meet you all."

"Yes, of course," replied Swift. "We were going to ask to see you fly, but I think that's unnecessary, given your entrance."

Several of the surrounding people looked disappointed at this news; Deryn Jones let out a groan.

"Oh boss," she said, in a thick Welsh accent. "Come on. He's excellent. We could all learn something from him."

"But you will see him – in a bit," Swift reminded her. "But first, let's get back to our warm-up."

It became clear that the training sessions were not going to be totally fun and games. They were stretching, bending and jogging for another fifteen minutes before Swift announced:

"Okay, let's get to work. Harry, how much do you know about broomstick racing?"

"I read about it in the Prophet sometimes, and we do some at college – Auror training, you know."

Deryn Jones looked even more impressed.

"Well, it's very simple –" began Swift, before being cut off halfway by Ari Elofssen.

"You haf to cross der line before anyone else does," Ari said, in a slow, deep voice.

"Thank you, Ari. As I say, it's very simple," Swift repeated. "There are a number of different race types, in two main categories, track and distance. There are long track races and shorter distance ones, of course." He smiled. "The particular race you'll be entering – to start with – is the SuperFly. The French SuperFly to be precise. You have two weeks to prepare for it. The SuperFly is the longest of all the track races, at one hundred laps – that's about twenty miles. You can expect to complete it in eleven or twelve minutes, taking corners into account. Right then, better get started."

He walked off round the building, and Harry and the other racers followed. They came to a small shed a few hundred yards down the road, disguised as a barn. The interior, however, was plush and modern, and the racers collected their broomsticks – all specialised versions of the Nimbus 2500 – and crossed the road to a large field. A large oval racetrack had been painted on the neatly cut grass, the inner boundary with the same dimensions as Quidditch pitch. There were eight lanes, with a staggered start.

"This is the track," announced Swift, and the racers stopped talking to look at him. Harry broke off from his conversation with Neil Jokes, who was six years older than him, a former Seeker for Ravenclaw house, and seemed to enjoy similar interests to Harry. Swift continued. "In races such as this some racers will start further forward that others, namely those who are higher up in the SuperFly rankings. It's the same in the World Championship, but of course that's a distance race."

Some of the other racers started talking quietly amongst themselves. They already knew this, naturally. Swift ignored them and continued his explanation to Harry.

"You'll be starting off at the back, as that's where you'll be in two weeks, most likely. Lance – you go to pole position." He pointed to a line a few yards in front of the start. "Deryn, Göker – yes, you – second, third. Ari, Arlie, you go behind them. We only use the first two lanes in practice, you see," he explained to Harry. "And Neil, you're at the back. Sorry, mate. Harry, you go beside him."

Harry walked onto the track, where he mounted his broomstick.

"Okay," said Swift. "The starter will send out a small blast from his wand to tell you to get ready, and a larger one to tell you to go. Don't start too early, you'll be penalised. Don't rise too high, it wastes time. Go your fastest, but remember to slow a bit – the smallest amount, mind you – for the corners. You don't have to stay in your lanes for this race; we'll pretend it's the SuperFly. Okay, just five laps, I think. Ready …" He held up his wand. There was a small bang, more like a pop, and the racers poised for take-off. Another bang, much louder this time, and they were flying.

The speed was amazing. Harry realised he had never gone at full speed while playing Quidditch – yes, he had gone fast, but he needed to keep a lookout for Bludgers, other players and – more importantly, the Snitch. And he had reason to stop – he would be penalised for leaving the pitch. Now he was speeding along, frightfully fast, just inches from the ground. He was already ahead of Neil, but Arlie Travers – glasses dispensed with – was directly in front of him. He zoomed upwards to overtake, but lost a few yards in the process. The first lap was already over – it had lasted just seconds. Now he was past Arlie, and past Ari Elofssen as well, bending into the tightest part of the never-ending curve, speeding on – the second lap was ended, then the third – he raced past Göker Rüzgar, taking advantage as the Turk moved upwards in an attempt to overtake Lance – the fourth lap, and the tingle of a magical bell – going past Lance, seeing the look of surprise on his face – approaching the finish line, gaining on Deryn Jones …

"Without an Omniocular replay, I can't say," said Michael Swift. "A dead heat."

"Photo finish," somebody commented.

"See, I told you he was good," said Deryn.


	5. The SuperFly

_Chapter 5: The SuperFly_

"Don't worry, Harry," said Hermione. "You'll be fine."

"I know, I know," Harry agreed. "It's just – you know…"

"Your first time," said Lance Draper, coming over. "Don't worry. I was like this. Then again, I came in last … you'll be fine."

Harry was not altogether reassured. He was in a stadium in France, in the part designated especially for racers, trainers and family and friends, together with Ron, Hermione, Ron's brothers Fred and George and his sister, Ginny, together with her baby, Ryan, whose father's identity was a total mystery. After that first race, training had continued – exercises, more practices, special diets in one of the buildings – and now Harry was fully kitted out in black Nimbus sports robes and with a new broomstick – a super-expensive improved version of the Nimbus 2500 that he was only allowed to use for races in case it became damaged. It was a true racing broom, with a perfectly straight and streamlined handle and a brush that was trimmed to be flawlessly aerodynamic.

"You'll be fine," repeated Hermione. "Remember your first Quidditch match?"

"If anything happens," said George. "Fred and I will sort it out for you. No one dares beat Harry Potter."

"In fact," said Fred. "Take this." He held out what looked like an innocent food packet. "We made it specially for you. Super Strengthening Spaghetti. It'll let you win anything."

Hermione said, "Fred!" and Harry grinned, "Do you really think they don't perform tests for illegal potions and spells?"

"Only joking," said Fred. "Actually, I bought it from a Muggle shop this morning."

Harry walked out onto the track, behind Deryn and Lance. The other members of the team were not taking part in this race. The three walked out to the starting line, where Lance put on his shades to protect his eyes from the blinding sun. "Remember what the boss said," he whispered. "Don't waste your time overtaking one of us. We're in this as a team. We've got the best brooms here, even Firebolt don't stand a chance. Don't underestimate L'Hippogriffe though – they've got excellent turning, as well as home support. That Russian company as well – the one with the unpronounceable name – they're quite good. The brooms aren't as fast, but the riders are excellent. Listen! They're announcing us."

True enough, an announcer – speaking in French – was reading out the teams and the names of the two-dozen competitors. When he read out Harry, the cheering was even louder than for Deryn and Lance. He was famous already, as the Boy-Who-Lived.

The starter signalled for the racers to take their positions. Harry was in last as Michael Swift had predicted, but Deryn and Lance were in first and second. The Nimbus team was already leading the SuperFly competition by a massive eighteen points.

Harry tensed his muscles, ready to begin. The racer next to him, a thickset African, smiled. Harry nodded back, then concentrated on the track ahead. The starter's wand popped, before squawking out a bang.

Harry and the team had decided it was best not to take any risks, and to stay back, waiting for the racers in front to make the wrong move. Nonetheless, Harry managed to propel himself forward five places as he cut across onto the inside lane. The air was rushing all around him, the slipstreams of the racers thundering in Harry's ears. And even louder was the roar of the crowd, somewhere among them the Weasleys and Hermione.

The laps sped past, almost as fast as the broomsticks. Harry overtook two more racers. Ahead of him, two brooms crashed into each other and their riders fell to the floor. Harry zoomed onwards, hoping that neither of the racers (now being carried off by mediwizards) were his teammates.

Lap twenty-four, lap twenty-five – a quarter of the way – lap twenty-six, lap twenty-seven. Harry overtook another wizard as he overshot the corner. Lap forty, fifty, sixty. Harry could see that some of the racers were losing their concentration. He managed to get into eighth by lap sixty-seven, taking advantage of riders glancing round or going too slowly. Lap seventy. Lance and Deryn were clearly ahead now. Another racer, in Comet white and silver, fall from his broom as he tried to speed past them. Lap eighty. Harry caught sight of Ron's cheering face in the stands, and lost concentration. In those few split seconds, a racer in the red and gold of the Firebolt team sped past. Harry cursed himself. Lap ninety. The racers were more spread out now. Only eighteen remained in the race. Harry wormed his way past three riders. Lap ninety-five. He moved to block the racer behind him. The speed of the race was now nauseating. Lap ninety-six. He dummied a collision with the racer in front, causing the unlucky rider to collide – for real – with the one in front. Lap ninety-seven. He was being reckless, he knew. He should try to hold his place. Lap ninety-eight. Harry allowed a racer to overtake him, before seizing the advantage as she rammed into the next rider. Lap ninety-nine. The racers all seemed to want to win, even though it now seemed nearly impossible from Harry's point of view. The third-placed rider overshot the corner in a rush of desperation, losing six places before he could retain his place. Harry was now one place away from leading the pack. The final lap – number one hundred. Up ahead, Lance sped over the finish line, followed closely by Deryn. Harry, too, was approaching the line. Measuring the distances in his mind, he left the inside lane to overtake the new third-placed rider, finishing the race milliseconds in front of him. He dived back down to the ground, landing in a crumpled heap with a thump. The next thing he knew, Deryn and Lance were hugging him – they had won, gaining the team a total of eighteen points and further extending their lead in the championship. The Weasleys and Hermione had left the stands, and were running over, closely followed by Michael Swift. "See, we told you!" exclaimed Ron. "Ginny had to take Ryan out he was so excited."

"Well done, lad!" praised Swift. "They told me you were good."

Everything was just too confusing. Harry climbed onto the podium and received his bronze medal, then cheered and clapped as Deryn and Lance received theirs as well. Then he got down, applauded the fans, before finally leaving to the calmness of the changing rooms.


	6. Harry, Murderer?

_Chapter 6: Harry, Murderer?_

After the SuperFly, Harry took part in race after race. In the three weeks of the holidays before the Andros term started, he didn't go four days without taking his place on the starting grid. He wouldn't be able to race while at Auror college, of course, but he had promised to practise in his free time and anyway, there were plenty of holidays.

It was now the Friday before Harry was due to leave for Andros. He had won in the last race, a quick ten-lap track affair, and was now celebrating with Ron and Hermione at a table in the Leaky Cauldron.

"I'm not looking forward to when we do racing in Physical Training," smiled Ron. "We'll be thrashed."

Harry grinned back. "Oh, I'm not that good. Half a second slower and I wouldn't have won the bronze."

Ron grabbed an abandoned copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from the next table, and scanned the back page. "Eleventh in the table," he murmured. He turned over. "Look! A piece on you!"

Harry looked. Sure enough, the paper had run a story detailing his rapid rise to the top sporting levels in the past few weeks.

"Number twenty-second in the world already," Ron commented. "Not bad after –"

"Eight races," Harry supplied.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Eight races. And in the top three in seven of them."

"Don't let all of this get to your head, Harry," Hermione cautioned. "You have packed all your college stuff, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Professor Gabriel's picking us up tomorrow."

"I know. Ron has told me."

"Yeah, of course."

"Isn't there any real news?" asked Hermione.

Ron turned over to the front of the newspaper. "Oh yes, that murderer's been captured. One who killed that old witch." He scanned the article "He went into a Muggle café, and was spotted by a wizard!"

"Anything else?" Hermione questioned.

"Well – er – the ICW are proposing this new law, and some Muggle walked into a dragon reserve and got away and told everyone about it – and Floo Network employees are threatening to strike … the usual."

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "Give it here." Ron passed her the newspaper, and she started reading it intently.

Harry drained his glass. "Get us some more Firewhisky, Ron," he asked. "I think I can handle another bottle – just a small one."

"Ogden's?" asked Ron.

"Yes, please."

Ron got up and went over to the bar. He returned a minute later with a steaming bottle of fiery liquid, and poured it into glasses.

"That guy's going to get a long time in jail," he said, gesturing towards the newspaper, which was now obscuring Hermione's face.

Harry remained silent.

"You okay?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, and paused. Then, "I killed him, didn't I?"

"Who?" asked Ron, who obviously had no idea of what Harry was talking about.

"_Voldemort_," said Harry strongly, with a tinge of anger. Ron shuddered involuntarily. "Who else? He's dead, because of me! I'm a murderer."

Ron held his hands out, palms upwards, and mouthed a few indistinguishable words. "Er – it's happened Harry. That was ages ago. Put it behind you."

"I tried," said Harry. "I've spent the last year trying to ignore the fact that I killed another human being."

"He wasn't human, Harry, he was a mutant!" laughed Ron, but stopped when he saw the look on Harry's face. "Okay, I get your point. Er – Hermione?"

She looked up, annoyed.

"Harry's convinced he should be sent to jail, or executed, or something," Ron explained. "Tell him – tell him he had no choice."

"Harry –" began Hermione. "He was trying to kill you as well, remember? It was self-defence. Erm – you've coped with it all this time, surely you've realised that? Look – he killed loads of people. Your parents!"

"Two wrongs don't make a right," said Harry. "I still killed _him_."

"Not really," said Ron slyly. Harry looked up.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well," Ron paused for effect. "It's not like you used Avada Kedavra, or stabbed him, or strangled him or anything. You just used Legilimency to make him remember all the kind and loving things anyone had ever done to him and –"

"He couldn't cope," finished Hermione. "See. Had it been any normal person, he wouldn't have had a problem."

Harry nodded, but he didn't feel any better.

"Look Harry, if Pettigrew hadn't intervened at the last second, he'd've killed you. You'd never have got that chance to get rid of him."

"Yeah."

"And just think –" said Ron, "if he was still alive, I'd be dead, and you'd be dead and Hermione'd be dead and most of Hogwarts would be dead, and –" He broke off. "You saved hundreds of lives."

"Nobody's charged you with anything, have they?" Hermione observed. "It was a war. You have to do these things!"

Harry was thinking about how different everything could have been. What if Pettigrew hadn't knocked Voldemort to the floor at just the second he was about to curse Harry, and made him lose his wand, not to mention his concentration? What if Draco Malfoy hadn't chickened out when his father had ordered him to kill Ron? What if Dumbledore hadn't broken free from his enforced enchantment at just the right time to come to Hogwarts, as Voldemort's Death Eaters were either trying to escape or trying greedily to take the position of their former master?

"I suppose you're right," he said.


	7. The New Term Begins

_Chapter 7: The New Term Begins_

Harry awoke early on the morning he was due to leave for Andros. He dragged himself out of bed, with some rather annoying help from Neddy, got dressed (Neddy had prepared his robes), went down to eat the breakfast Neddy had cooked, and checked to see if Neddy had packed everything correctly. He was going to be strange not having a house elf do everything for him, whether he wanted it or not, for the next few months.

He checked his watch. It was still only nine o'clock: he didn't need to be at the Ministry of Magic, where a car would take him to Andros, until half past three. He looked around the house for some work to do, but Neddy had already done everything. Instead, Harry took out his wizards' chess set and started playing with it, instructing the pieces on the other side of the board to do as they wished. He won easily, three times – the black chessmen didn't seem to understand that they had to work as a team.

At ten, Harry got up and went to collect his trunk from his room, only to find that Neddy had already taken it to the front door. He called the house-elf to him.

"What is sir wanting?" the elf squeaked.

"Neddy, I think I'll go know. I'll spend the day with Ron."

"If you wishes sir," replied Neddy.

"You've got your holiday sorted out, haven't you?" Harry inquired.

"I have sir," said Neddy, looking as if a holiday was a very shameful thing indeed.

"Good," said Harry. "Where are you going again?"

"Two weeks in Brighton sir. A special hotel for house-elves."

"Two weeks, is that all?" Harry had expected longer. "Well when you get back, do something useful. I know – go and the vampires, you know who I mean?"

Neddy smiled widely. This was more like it. "Kelly and Telkarr and all the rest, I knows them sir."

"Well you go and help them – when you come back from Brighton," Harry added, before the elf scuttled off. He was obviously eager for work. "And – er – keep the house in good condition. Rent it out even, if you can find anyone who'll take it." He smiled. "I'll want it back though."

Neddy nodded. "Of course sir."

"Well then, bye! See you at Christmas!"

"Goodbye sir."

Harry grabbed his trunk and Disapparated, arriving instantaneously in Diagon Alley.

Harry and Ron arrived together at the Ministry a few minutes early. With them were their owls, Ron's excitable Pigwidgeon and Harry's Hedwig, who was becoming rather elderly by now.

Rudolf O'Hare, Harry and Ron's friend who had grown up with a strong German influence, was already there, pacing around and humming a rock song. He had a ring in his right ear and had shaven himself bald over the summer.

"Hi," he greeted. "Did you haf a nice summer?"

"Yeah," said Harry, whilst Ron nodded. "Nice hair."

"Dank you," said Rudolf. "It vos mein Vater who cut it." Rudolf's father was a barber. "Vot is der time?"

Ron glanced at his Chudley Cannons wristwatch. "Gabriel should be here now," he said.

There was a _crack_. Harry spun around; half-expecting to see that Professor Gabriel's car had Apparated behind them. But it was only Lizzy Pullman, another trainee Auror, three years older than Harry, Ron and Rudolf, with long, dark red hair. She was pulling a trunk behind her, and panting. "Hi," she breathed. "I thought I was late."

"No," said Ron as she petted Pigwidgeon, who squawked wildly. "Gabriel hasn't turned up yet."

"It's going to be different without Hannah," remarked Lizzy. "You know, as she left last year. I'll have a whole room to myself, while you three are cramped up inside one."

"I vill share vid you if you like," said Rudolf, but Lizzy only glared at him. Hannah Brittain, Lizzy's old roommate, had left Andros at the end of last year. Although magically talented, she had been rather selfish and often prized other things above her lessons.

"I wonder where Gabriel's got to," said Harry, trying to change the subject. "Professor Potts will be here for the third-years before he comes."

But Professor Gabriel did turn up, in an expensive new car. He apologised for his lateness as he climbed out and placed the trunks in the magically expanded boot with his wand. "Broke down halfway here," he said. "This things not all it's cracked up to be."

He held open the doors and the students climbed in. Professor Gabriel was a young but serious teacher, who had probably started work teaching at Auror college almost as soon as he'd graduated. Like Rudolf, he was bald, but he had a short blond beard and twinkling blue eyes. He climbed into the car himself, and, with the minimum of effort, drove off. Harry had been in a magical car like this before: it avoided traffic jams with ease and snuck into the smallest of gaps.

"I was going to have a snack at Auror headquarters," Professor Gabriel said after a few minutes. "If we hadn't broken down … any of you got any food … thanks Weasley."

"This is the year of our foreign course isn't it?" said Lizzy. Every year, the second-year trainees went to a foreign country for a term. "Where are we going, sir?"

"That's classified," said Professor Gabriel, and smiled. "But I'll tell you a bit early. It's meant to be Bergland, the mountain kingdom. It's not really a proper country, but the Austrian Ministry of Magic lets it do as it likes. A wizarding country, you know. Lots of interesting wildlife. Just as long as they don't declare war on us, we should be fine …"

The car drove on. The students talked and Ron and Harry tried to play chess but found the pieces kept slipping off every time they braked or rounded a corner. So they gave up and listened to accounts of each other's summers for the next two hours. Both Rudolf and Lizzy had read about Harry's races in the newspapers.

"We're here," said Professor Gabriel finally, driving through wrought iron gates, along a drive and pulling up underneath a statue of the ancient Greek wizard who had given Andros its name. The college itself was a modern building, and not likely to look too suspicious to any Muggle passers-by.

They got out. "You've got half-an-hour," said Professor Gabriel. "Unpack, then do as you wish."

Harry levitated his trunk and it floated behind him as he led the way to the dormitory, which was right at the end of the corridor. The walls were, for the most part, bare and white, with some smiling pictures of previous students and shelves carrying the various awards that had been given to them. Harry pushed open the door and sat down on his bed, the one nearest the window. There were two other beds crammed into the small room, as well as a desk complete with magical typewriter and a door leading into the gent's bathroom.

It didn't take long to unpack, although they were slowed down by Pigwidgeon's continual twittering. "What now?" asked Ron, when all three had unpacked, arranged their belongings, and gone to the toilet.

"Let's go to the common room," said Harry. "The first-years will be exploring, they won't bother us."

The common room was in the West Wing of the building, together with the dining room, gymnasium and kitchens. Lizzy was already there when they arrived, reading a book. Harry and Ron sat down.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Rudolf. "They've taken the Tri-X."

He was referring to the magical games console they'd played on the previous year. Harry was disappointed, but admitted to the others that he, for one, had become a bit addicted. They managed a game of chess going this time, however, and still hadn't finished it when the bell went for dinner at six o'clock.

Apart from the teachers, they were the first to arrive in the dining hall, and sat down at the second-year table. Harry glanced at the staff table: there were no changes. A minute later, the first-years started to arrive.

All four were young men, with not a single female student among them. Harry and Ron both recognised Ernie Macmillan, who had been in their year at Hogwarts. He came over to them.

"Evening. Didn't tell you I was coming, did I?"

"No," said Harry. "Your sister's here though, isn't she?"

"Yes," said Ernie. "I think the third-years are a bit late. I decided I'd take a gap year, spent a bit of time with the Muggle Liaison Office. Anyway, I'd better sit down. Goodbye."

He went over to the first-year table and joined the other students. There were two younger ex-Hufflepuffs whom Harry recognised by sight but didn't know their names, and a Japanese wizard, dressed extravagantly in purple and gold robes, who Harry didn't know at all.

A few minutes later, the third-years arrived, let by a smiling if somewhat flustered Professor Potts. They all greeted the second-years, and when they had all sat down, Professor Confessus, the elderly headmaster, stood up. He greeted them, and then like the year before, read out everybody's names from a long list of parchment to help people get to know each other.

"The first-year then. Let us welcome: Donald MacFusty," one of the ex-Hufflepuffs, who was tall and had longish brown hair, stood up and was applauded. "Ernie Macmillan – Dominic Perkins." The other young wizard was shorter, and blond. Both Ernie and the Japanese wizard seemed to think him somewhat annoying. "And Katsuro Suzuki. Thank you. The older students – Rudolf O'Hare – Harry Potter – Elizabeth Pullman – Ronald Weasley." Confessus took a breath before continuing with the third-year: the tall, thin Max Shimpling, sporty George Ollerton, and Ernie's sister, the pretty, blonde Lyra Macmillan. Then it was the teachers' turn to be announced: Professors Potts, Gabriel and Shacklebolt, Madams Masters and Hooch and, of course, Confessus himself, who then told the new first-years where to meet the next morning, before clapping his hands, causing four house elves, each dressed in a square of old, but clean, curtain, to come rushing in with the food.

_Boot = US trunk (I think)_


	8. Katsuro Suzuki

_Chapter 8: Katsuro Suzuki_

After dinner, most of the students went to the common room where Harry and Ron talked to Ernie, introducing him to Rudolf. At around ten o'clock Ron announced that he was going to bed, and the others decided to do the same.

After breakfast the next morning, the students went first to Room Three where Professor Gabriel would give them some guidance for the next year. Andros students did not follow a strict timetable, but had to attend at least three of the four ninety minute lessons each weekday. The lessons themselves were decided by the teachers, the year tutor and the students, based on what each felt needed more practise.

After the next week's timetable had been decided, Professor Gabriel gave the students some details about the upcoming foreign course, which would take place between January and March. He didn't seem too sure on the details himself, but instructed Harry and the rest on what to bring ("everything you need for college plus anything else that might be useful"), what to wear ("something appropriate for the Alps in winter") and how else to prepare ("listen to your lectures – it'll most likely be the main theme of many of them"). He then told the class that this year would be more practical, with fewer lessons of just taking notes from the teachers and more trips outside the college grounds, as the had done most of the basic theory the at school and in the previous year.

"Any questions?" he asked when he'd finished all this. "Don't ask about the foreign course, you'll be told more nearer the time."

Only Rudolf had a question. "Vill ve verk vid real Aurors on der field trips?" he asked.

"Wait until next year," Professor Gabriel told him. "You might even go out on a couple of minor missions."

The days and lessons past: Concealment & Disguise and Stealth & Tracking with the kindly old Headmaster, Professor Confessus; Herbology and Potions with the very silly Professor Potts; Spell Creation and Transfiguration with Professor Gabriel; the study of curses with Kingsley Shacklebolt; Charms with the fair but short tempered Madam Masters; and Physical Training with Madam Hooch. Harry found little time for fun or even much communication with the other students: when he wasn't on the fields or in the Spell Casting Paddock, the Spell Challenge Arena or the middle of nowhere doing activities such as orienteering, studying dragons or catching pretend criminals, he was in the dormitory or the common room trying to put everything the teachers had told him that day into his own words for marking. It was only at the weekends that he could really enjoy himself, and even then, time was limited by homework.

It was in the first of these weekends that Harry got to know Katsuro Suzuki. The Japanese wizard came over as he was relaxing in an armchair.

"Can we talk?" he asked. "I have always wanted to meet you."

"Oh," replied Harry. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Katsuro was short and dumpy, with black hair and a round face. He had dispensed with his purple and gold robes over the week and was now dressed in stripy robes of the Andros regulation colours: black, blue and grey.

"I suppose you want to know what it feels like to be famous," guessed Harry, pulling back his fringe to show Katsuro his scar.

Katsuro gazed at the scar, but answered, "No. I already know what its like."

"Really?" said Harry. "Did you kill a Dark Lord too?" He wished he hadn't said it.

Katsuro smiled. "No. My father is a Quidditch player."

"A Quidditch – not Yoshiro Suzuki?"

"Yes," said Katsuro. "He got signed by the Chudley Cannons."

"My friend Ron supports them. Can you get him an autograph?"

"A signature, you mean? I can try."

"You speak very good English," Harry noted.

"My father made my brothers and my sister and I learn how to," Katsuro said. "From an early age. He knew that one day he would be signed by one of the big foreign clubs."

Harry snorted. "You can hardly call Chudley Cannons big! How do get into Andros?"

"I went to a special test with your government. They said I had very great ability."

"You must be good, if they trust you," Harry replied. "Can't imagine they normally let in foreigners. Even my friend Rudolf's got dual nationality."

Katsuro smiled again. "Does your friend want to see me?"

"'Spose," said Harry. "Hey, Ron. Suzuki wants to talk."

Ron looked up from his essay then stood up slowly. "Fine," he said. About halfway to Harry he seemed to realise the new student's name for the first time in a week. Getting closer, he scanned Katsuro's face.

"You're not related to Yoshiro, are you?" he asked, sitting down.

"He is my father," said Katsuro.

"_Wow_," Ron breathed. "Can you get me an autograph?"

"I can try," Katsuro answered.

Two of the other first-years, Dom and Donald, had been watching the conversation, and came over.

"You support Chudley Cannons?" said Dom incredulously to Ron. "They suck!"

"Loser!" taunted Donald.

"Go away or I'll curse you," growled Ron, reaching for his wand to show he really meant it. The two raised their eyebrows at each other and sauntered off to annoy Lizzy and Lyra, who were talking quietly.

"Hope they get expelled," spat Ron. "Little buggers."

"What type of magic are you good at?" Harry asked Katsuro.

"I can do defence magic, attack magic and Herbology," he replied. "Oh, and some wandless magic."

"_Wandless magic_," said Ron, amazed. "They don't even try to teach you that at Hogwarts, it's so hard. They taught us a little bit last year, I can just about –" He clapped his hands. Nothing happened.

"It is not very possible to do much without a wand, of course. But I can do some simple spells," Katsuro explained. "Would you like to see?"

There was a crash from across the room as Lizzy pushed Dom away, sending him flying into a bookcase.

"Fine," said Harry, after he had finished watching Dom pick himself up.

"How about a Hover Charm?" suggested Katsuro. He took his wand out of his pocket and conjured a feather from thin air. Then, placing his wand back, he raised his arms upwards. Ron and Harry watched, impressed, and the feather followed them.

"_Brilliant_," praised Ron. "Wish I could do that!"

There was an explosion on the other side of the room, followed by a yelp from Dom and Donald.


	9. The Unforgivable Curses

_Chapter 9: The Unforgivable Curses_

Term continued. Harry increasingly felt that he didn't have enough space – Dom and Donald were increasingly annoying everybody and there were now nine young men crammed into three small rooms in the college.

"It's okay for you," he said to Lizzy one day. "You and Lyra have got a room each, and one spare. They should let some of us move in, I'm forever having to wait for a free shower these days."

"You can carry on waiting," said Lizzy. "I'm not sharing a bathroom with any of you."

"Well then," said Harry. "They could at least move the wall. You can have a room with Lyra and the end of your bathroom, and we can have the other five dorms, our bathroom, and the rest of yours."

"I'm fine how it is, thanks," Lizzy said.

* * *

About halfway through November Kingsley Shacklebolt surprised his Curses class by telling them that they wouldn't need their wands today.

"The next unit of work is very important," he said in his deep voice. "I don't want anyone doing anything until we're absolutely sure you can get it right." He paused, but no one said anything. "We will be studying the so-called Unforgivable Curses."

Lizzy gasped, Ron and Harry gasped at each other. Rudolf said, "I can do tose."

"You were taught at Durmstrang, is that correct?" Professor Shacklebolt questioned.

"Yes," said Rudolf. "I vos."

"Well, you will have a head start then. I'm going to demonstrate first, then we'll get going on the theory."

"Let's hope he demonstrates on those annoying first-years," hissed Ron, but it was not to be. Instead, Professor Shacklebolt drew three spiders from his desk and proceeding to demonstrate on them the controlling powers of the Imperius Curse, the torturing Cruciatus, and finally the killing curse, Avada Kedavra, much like Professor Moody – at least, someone pretending to be him – had done in Harry and Ron's fourth-year at Hogwarts.

Professor Shacklebolt brushed the spiders into a waste paper basket, signalled for silence, and began to talk.

"You should all have studied how to protect yourselves from these curses – as far as it is possible – at school, and I believe I covered it with you again briefly last year. My job now is to teach you how to use these curses, as you will doubtlessly need to do so when you become Aurors. I must stress that should you decide to take some other path you must never use the curses on another human being, you will spend a long time in jail. If any of you do become Aurors, even then you must only use the curses in circumstances when you have no other choice. Always think about what you are doing."

He continued to talk, and Harry found himself being increasingly filled with dread. He had never thought about it before, but were he to become a full-time Auror there would almost certainly be times when he would have to be prepared to kill other human beings – as he had killed Voldemort. How could he live like that?

* * *

Harry's bad feelings continued. He stayed awake now on most nights, unable to sleep. At one o'clock the next Saturday morning he dragged himself out of bed and, pulling on his dressing gown, left the room. Ron was snoring quietly, but Rudolf was nowhere to be seen. Harry was too tired to care, but he still couldn't drop off.

The lights were already on in the common room, but it wasn't Rudolf, it was Katsuro. He was back in his brightly-coloured robes and was obviously practising wandless magic: things were levitating and changing shape even though his wand was stationary on a table some feet away from where Katsuro was sitting.

"Evening," muttered Harry, flopping down on a chair and staring blankly at the empty fireplace.

"It is morning now," Katsuro pointed out. "Can you not sleep?"

Harry shook his head. "I keep thinking about –" He broke off.

"Your parents?" Katsuro suggested.

Harry was slightly taken aback, but then he realised that nearly everyone in the wizarding world knew his parents were dead. "A bit," he answered. "But more about – I killed Voldemort," he said abruptly.

He expected Katsuro to try and do what Ron and Hermione had, but he didn't. Instead, he returned all of the floating objects to where they had been before and unTransfigured them, before saying, "My mother was killed as well."

"What?" said Harry without thinking. He corrected himself. "I'm sorry. It wasn't Voldemort, was it?"

Katsuro smiled. "You don't have to be sorry. I cannot remember her. I was only one year old when it happened. No, it was not Voldemort. It was a Dark wizard though. My mother's old husband."

"He killed her?"

"Yes, because she never loved him. His name was Dorobo Seimeino. My mother's parents tried married her to him – you can do it like that in Japan – when my eldest sister was born. She was only eighteen, my father even younger. It was more complicated than that. My father's mother was Muggleborn. My mother's family were all pureblood. My father was nearly expelled when the school found out what he had done. If he had not been able to play Quidditch …"

Harry wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear Katsuro's life story, but he listened anyway.

"He did not stop visiting her. My brother Akira was born. Dorobo left my mother. He began to play with the Dark Arts. My parents married. They had another son."

"You?"

"No, not yet. My brother Yori. I came later. August 1st 1981."

"That's nearly exactly a year after me!" said Harry in mild amazement.

Katsuro smiled again. "My father won the Quidditch League that day, with the Hidaka Hi. That's why I've got my name." He paused, seeing Harry's look of puzzlement. "It means 'victory'," he supplied. "A year later, my father had another Quidditch match. Dorobo came to our house to seek revenge. He should have known my father would not be there, if he had read the newspaper. But he killed my mother, and left. Emi – my sister – can still remember it. She told my father – she recognised her mother's old husband – and he told the Aurors. They caught Dorobo. He was executed."

"Is that why you became an Auror?" Harry asked curiously. "Because your mother was killed?"

"Not really," said Katsuro. "I am just good at magic."

They sat in silence on opposite sides of the room. "What was your mother's name?" Harry asked after a few minutes.

"Sayuri. Small lily, you would say."

"Lily?"

"Yes."

"That was my mother's name."

_A/N: Although I have researched relevant Japanese culture and language as thoroughly as possible, I may have made some mistakes. Please forgive me if this is so._


	10. The Autumn Term Exams

* * *

A/N: It's been quite a while (two weeks) since I last updated, but hopefully I'll be able to write a bit more in the coming days. Quite a few people (i.e. two) having been asking about Katsuro, his family and his family history: I put this stuff in the story for two reasons: to illustrate that Harry is not alone in being famous and parentless, and because I felt like writing it :-). Katsuro is going to be a big help to Harry in coping with everything (I hope). Anyway …

_Chapter 10: The Autumn Term Exams_

The term had passed like lightning, and it was already time for the exams the students had to sit before every holiday. The students now had just one weekend to revise before the tests started, and Harry wasn't doing so well.

"Do you want some help?" Katsuro said. They were in the pavilion behind the sports pitches: Katsuro had suggested going there for a bit of peace to work in.

Harry had to admit that he did need a bit of assistance. The younger boy hadn't reached the Unforgivable Curses in his Andros studies yet, of course, but he had already covered them at school and his knowledge of the theory was excellent.

"It is important that you think of nothing else," Katsuro advised. "As if you were doing any other difficult spell."

"But I can't stop thinking about causing pain," Harry replied. "And that's the most important thing."

"You must imagine that what you are doing does not matter. You must think it is the best thing possible."

Summoning all his mental and magical energy, Harry put the Cruciatus curse on one of the woodlice that were scurrying around the dark, damp building. It rolled over onto its back and waved its legs in pain. Harry took the curse off almost immediately.

"See, you did it," Katsuro praised.

"It's okay on insects," Harry said, "but what about when I have to do it on people?"

Katsuro summoned one of the Quaffles that were lying around the room to him with a beckoning gesture, and twirled it on his finger. "Imagine they are insects," he said after some thought. "They will not be worth much, not if you need to capture them. But be sparing with the curses at all times. Surely your teachers tell you this. You won't have to use them much."

* * *

"Where were you all morning?" Ron asked Harry at lunchtime, as they ate what could only be described as their rations. Students were given a balanced diet, so as to stay healthy.

"With Katsuro, practising for the exams," Harry told him.

"He's a very nice person, isn't he?" said Ron. "I was talking to him the other day, we have a lot in common. He's got a big family and he finds it really hard to keep up with his brothers and his sister, he was a sort of prefect at school and he plays Keeper in Quidditch."

Harry nodded. "He's quite like me as well."

* * *

The exams came and went. Despite not perfecting many of his spells till the last minute, Harry did very well. He even managed to sneak up on Professor Confessus in Stealth and Tracking, and did excellently on his Spell Creation theory paper, with full marks. He finished top of the year in several subjects, losing out to Rudolf in Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions, and to Lizzy in Care of Magical Creatures (which in lessons they had only once a week, if that). Ron didn't come top in any of the papers, but he was close in several. Perhaps more importantly, Harry managed to keep calm throughout his exams: the students were continually assessed on this ability because it was vital that an Auror did not get angry or frustrated. If the teachers thought they might do, they wouldn't be accepted to the job however well they did in coursework or tests.

On the final day of term, after the students had all received their results, Professor Gabriel gave them all of the information they needed about the foreign course.

"You will meet me and Professor Confessus at the Ministry of Magic on January 16th, the first day of the new term," he told them. "We will travel to Bergland through the International Floo Network. When we get there, we will take you to our accommodation and we will spend the rest of the term on what is essentially a big field trip. At the end you will be tested on what you have learnt: this will form your examination for the spring term. I'm giving you an information pack, make sure you bring everything it tells you."

After this, the students went to the hall for the final assembly of term, which included a large meal. After everyone had finished eating, Professor Confessus stood up to speak.

"Thankyou everyone," he said. "I have a great term, and I'm sure you have as well. I think, just to commemorate this, we'll give a little prize to the leader in our personal points competition. Harry Potter."

Harry stood up, and accepted his box of chocolate frogs. He had forgotten that he was top of the tally of points that were awarded by the teachers to students who did well, and was pleased. At the same time, he felt sorry for Katsuro, who had narrowly come second. If it hadn't been for him, Harry would have not done nearly as well. He might even have dropped out of Andros at the strain.

For some reason, he dimly remembered Amarenox at this point. What had happened to the Dark Lord? Was he out there somewhere, causing havoc? It was all his fault, Harry thought. He had let Amarenox escape. If only he really was the perfect Harry Potter everyone thought.


End file.
